The Manager (Number 37)
by RedJr
Summary: When Raymond Reddington kidnaps Agent Elizabeth Keen to assist in capturing a blacklister, he triggers a set of events that not even he could predict. On the run from his target, and the FBI, can Red keep Liz and himself alive long enough to prove their loyalty to the FBI?
1. The Beginnings of a Roadtrip?

"Red..." Liz began uncertainly.

"Yes, my dear?" Red said evenly, turning his head slightly toward her.

Liz hesitated. She glanced sideways at Red, who was sitting in the passenger seat of her car, then looked back to the road ahead. They were currently on the highway, heading back to the field office in Washington.

"Lizzie?"

"When did you drug me?"

Red's mouth twitched into his trademark smirk, "A few weeks ago, an associate of mine formulated a new sedative and gave me some samples of that, among other things."

"While you stepped out of the restaurant to report in with Donald, I mixed a dose into your drink," he added, pulling a small empty glass bottle out of his jacket's inner pocket. Red still found it amusing that Lizzie always ordered an Aviation cocktail whenever they dined together.

Liz blinked, "I assume there's no point in asking why?"

Red chuckled, shaking his head.

"None at all, Lizzie."

Liz sighed in exasperation. "What are the symptoms?"

"You tell me," Red said, turning to face Liz.

She considered the question. "I've had a headache since we left the restaurant, and I started feeling lightheaded about ten minutes ago, though it's been getting worse in the last five minutes." Liz knew better than to argue with Red and, even though she would never admit it out loud, she _did_ have reason to trust him. Not that she did trust him, but he had saved her life more than a few times in the past eleven months working together. On the other hand, many of those times he had been the one to put her life at risk in the first place.

"I estimate you have approximately ten minutes left of consciousness. Fifteen at the most. You should consider stopping the car soon," Red stated clinically.

Liz figured yes, it probably would be better to pull over sooner rather than later. Yet, she had the rebellious urge to keep driving.

"I'll take my chances with the highway," Liz decided after a minute, ignoring the light tremors in her hands that travelled up her arms.

"Lizzie, I think you should pull over."

"You know what, Reddington? I don't give a damn what you think!" Liz snapped.

Red took a measured breath, "Over the years, throughout my travels, I have encountered many unique individuals who have taught me assorted techniques in the art of coercion. I can count at least seven ways in which I can force you to pull over this car. Would you like me to show you?"

Liz winced, but said nothing.

"I would really prefer not to hurt you Lizzie, but you're not leaving me much choice here," Red sighed, lifting his hand to rest on Liz's shoulder. Liz tried to shrug him off, but he refused to move.

"There are various pressure points all over the human body, most of which can be manipulated to cause pain." Liz was leaning away from Red, but his grip on her shoulder tightened.

"This one however," his thumb lightly brushed the spot just above her collar bone, "Is said to be excruciating. Shall we test that theory?"

"No," Liz said quickly, already signalling to pull over to the side of the highway.

"Good girl," Red murmured, taking his hand off her shoulder.

Once she had stopped the car, she leaned back in her seat and turned to Red.

"Now what?"

"Now, we swap seats. Unless, of course, you'd rather fall asleep there and make me drag you into the trunk. I really don't mind."

Liz slowly unbuckled her seatbelt, and opened her door. She blinked, and Red was crouched on the grass next to her, with an amused smirk on his face. He had one hand at the side of her head, his other clasped around her wrist.

"Wh-appened?" Liz demanded, narrowing her eyes at Red, who had let go of her wrist and was cradling her face in both hands.

"You almost fell out of the car, Lizzie," Red chided, "Would you like to sleep in the front or the back?"

"Front."

He stared into her eyes for a moment longer before swiftly standing up and offering his hand. Liz reluctantly took it. Red pulled Liz up and out of the car, only to have her legs crumple under her, making her fall toward the ground. He dropped down to the ground with her, and gently lifted her head to look at him.

"You'll need to help me out if that's at all possible," he quipped.

"Mmh," Liz groaned, closing her eyes.

Red nodded. "Alright then," he muttered, placing one arm behind Liz's back and pulling her into a seated position. He hooked his other arm behind her knees and stood, deftly picking her up in the way he once carried his own daughter to bed, eliciting a surprised yelp from Liz.

"Oh, don't be so dramatic, Lizzie," he said teasingly, adjusting his hold of her so her head lolled back to rest against his chest.

After making his way to the passenger side door, Red carefully pushed Liz into the front seat, holding her limp head up with a hand under her chin while he reclined the seat slightly. He leaned over and buckled up her seatbelt. Liz watched Red do this, being too weak and tired to bother protesting. It reminded her of when she was kidnapped by the Stewmaker, barely a month after they had met. She had been completely helpless, and he had come to her rescue. She remembered the gentle way he lifted her feet onto the footrest of the wheelchair, the soft smile he gave her while he reassured her that she would be okay, a light hand on her head, urging her to rest.

And here it was again, Red carefully guiding her legs into the car, looking up to see her watching him, smiling, not smirking. A palm on her forehead. His eyes seemed to beg her to trust him.

How could she ever trust him? He's a criminal. That single word that everyone labelled Raymond Reddington with. _I'm a criminal, and criminals are notorious liars_, he said so himself. So why was he so concerned with her welfare? Did he truly care, or was there an ulterior motive? Did he want to lull her into a false sense of security? Too many questions.

After Red was satisfied that Liz wasn't going to fall out of the car again, he placed her limp arms on her stomach, and shut the car door.

He slid into the driver's seat and started the car, before glancing over at the lax body next to him. Lizzie was staring blankly over the steering wheel.

"You must be exhausted, Lizzie, go to sleep."

Her eyes flicked up to meet his, tears misting them.

"Everything will be okay," he promised.

"Why should I trust you?" she asked softly.

"You shouldn't," Red conceded, nodding, "But you can. Go to sleep."

Liz's eyes drifted shut.

Red pulled back onto the highway, humming softly to himself. He reached over Lizzie's legs to blindly search his leather bag, quickly finding his small music player. Swiftly plugging it in, he selected shuffle, and smirked at the song that started playing.

_...Please allow me to introduce myself,_

_I'm a man of wealth and taste._

_I've been around for a long, long year,_

_Stole many a man's soul and faith..._

Red glanced over at Lizzie. He had faith that she would serve her role well in their next venture. This blacklister would be a tricky one, he was Red's closest associate, almost close enough to be a friend. He also knew about Red's deal with the FBI, which complicated matters. Therefore, Red would have to play the double agent who had been getting intel from the FBI, and now, escaping their grasp with one of their own agents hostage.

It would be easier for Lizzie to not know of the plan. She needed to play the hostage. She was a fighter, though Red still had a feeling of unease that twisted his stomach whenever he placed her in danger. Necessary danger.

"You'll be fine," he murmured to Lizzie, reaching over to rest his hand lightly on her head. It was a gesture of reassurance, for both Lizzie and himself.

_...As heads is tails, just call me Lucifer,_

_Cause I'm in need of some restraint..._

Red smirked as he hummed along to the song, driving into the late afternoon sun to their destination.

* * *

AN: Thank you for reading! This was originally intended to be a one shot, but I'm curious to see where I can take it. I can't promise regular updates, but I'll aim for one chapter a fortnight. I do have a basic plan of where it is going, but, life happens and things get prioritised over writing.

I absolutely adore James Spader and Megan Boone, and I hope I portrayed their characters accurately. Also, I'm Australian, so while I've tried to use all American English (trunk instead of boot, signal instead of indicator) some Australian terms may slip through. Please let me know if you find any errors, and I'll happily fix them.

The lyrics are from 'Sympathy for the Devil' by the Rolling Stones. This song was played at the beginning of Episode 2 - "The Freelancer". It's a great song and I think it suits Red perfectly.

I posted this story over on the Archive (archive of our own) under the same username; RedJr, and created this account so I could post it here too.


	2. A Deal is Made

Red had been driving all night, much preferring to wait until Lizzie woke up before he found somewhere for them to stop and rest. He hadn't slept in what was close to thirty hours, and was running on black coffee and willpower alone. He had gone much longer without sleep in the past, though, he _had_ been held captive by a raving lunatic, who had only gotten the jump on Red through sheer dumb luck. By the end of _that_ ordeal, Red was not necessarily in a coherent state of mind, though the madman was much worse off. _He_ had the pleasure of spending the rest of his rather short life choking on stale cemetery dirt from within the confines of a one hundred and fifty year old casket.

Red was exhausted; he sincerely hoped that Lizzie would regain consciousness very soon.

He had received a phone call, or rather; Lizzie had received a phone call from Agent Ressler.

Turning down the radio volume, he answered, "Agent Keen's phone."

"Reddington?" Ressler sounded surprised, "Where's Keen?"

"Let's just say she's having a bit of a nap, she was _awfully_ tired after our lunch yesterday."

"What have you done to her?" Ressler demanded.

"I just gave her a little something to help her rest. We have a potentially exhausting journey ahead of us, Agent Ressler."

"What are you playing at Reddington? Where are you going?"

"Lizzie and I are going on a trip. I do not need to tell you where, as I'm sure you're tracing my whereabouts as we speak. You need to listen carefully to what I'm about to explain to you."

Red took the silence as a sign to continue.

"Lizzie and myself are currently going after one of the most truly horrendous blacklisters, a man who goes only by the pseudonym 'The Manager'. He trusts no one, and would most definitely detect your FBI scent before you managed to get within one hundred miles of him."

"The tricky part to this operation lies in the fact that the Manager knows the details of my deal with the FBI. So, with Keen acting as my hostage, I will convince him that I have been simply using the FBI to take out my enemies, and I am now double-crossing you, taking Agent Keen as my insurance."

"Once I have persuaded the Manager enough that he will not suspect me, I will surreptitiously contact you and you can assemble the team to come 'capture' me, arrest the Manager, and 'rescue' Agent Keen."

"Can I trust you to allow me the space to complete this operation, Donald, or am I going to have to destroy the tracking chip in my neck? Don't doubt that I will do that," he said seriously.

Ressler absorbed the information Reddington had just given him. When he had been put in complete charge of Reddington's _'self-serving need to eliminate the competition'_ by Cooper, he could never have predicted this to be a decision he'd be forced to make. While he had been working with Red and Keen for almost a year now, he was still unsure of his stance with Red. He had endangered his life more than once, calmly watching him as he desperately thought up a cover story to save his own life. The man made no secret of the care he felt toward Keen, but he had also put her in danger more times than Ressler could count. Only going through the box file of case reports would give him a number, though he knew there were lots of them; he'd had to sign off each report before archiving them.

"Has Keen even agreed to be the 'hostage'? What did you drug her with? Why? How do you know that you can gain his trust? How does he know about the deal?"

"Lizzie and I believed it would be beneficial to begin our act early on in the trip, so we would be comfortable in our roles by the time we met with the Manager," Red lied.

"I'm the only people who would have a snowball's chance of attaining his trust; after all, I recruited him into the business. He assisted me in planning my 'infiltration' of the FBI."

Ressler sighed, unsure of why that surprised him. Reddington had his mark on everything.

"Alright, I'll agree to your terms, if you agree to mine," he didn't seem to have a choice in the deal.

Red chuckled.

"It wouldn't be an FBI agreement without you imposing your conditions on me, now would it Donald?"

Ressler pinched the bridge of his nose, letting out a huff of frustrating.

"Did I strike a nerve, Agent Ressler?" Red asked mockingly.

"I have one condition for you," Ressler started, decidedly ignoring Reddington's remark, "You will report in with me, on this cell phone, every evening, between six and eight o'clock. If you fail to contact me, understand that I _will_ dispatch a team with the order to bring you in or take you out."

Red chuckled in amusement, "I'd like to see them try, Agent Ressler."

He continued, "I agree to your terms, though you must understand that you must not have contact with Agent Keen, as she is my hostage."

Ressler hesitated for a moment, then conceded, "Yes, I know. You have a deal. I'll expect a phone call tonight."

"Is that all, Donald?" Red asked, glancing over at Lizzie as she shifted in her sleep, allowing the soft blanket he had draped over her to fall away.

Ressler sighed; the man could read him like a book. "Just keep Keen alive, ok?"

"You have my word, I'll look after her," Red murmured before ending the call.

_What good is your word anyway_, Ressler thought. He felt awful for leaving Liz in this situation with Red, though he supposed it would be better for Liz to know that they have the FBI backing them. He knew Red wouldn't hesitate to _actually_ kidnap her in order to take out a blacklister.

Red gently placed the phone back in the centre console box. He reached over to Lizzie, and pulled the edge of the yellow blanket up to her shoulder, tucking it behind her back, before turning his attention back to the road.

* * *

Liz became aware of the world slowly. The robust bitterness of coffee filled the air, overwhelming her senses with its rich and heavy scent. She could hear soft music playing and the low murmur of someone on the phone. Tom. Distantly, she wondered who he was talking to so early in the morning. _Surely not anyone from the school, not on a Sunday._ Tom was tucking the blankets around her. Liz felt at ease, and was more than happy to doze in the mid-morning sunshine that shone on her face and warmed her cheek where it pressed against the window.

_Window?_ Liz forced her eyes open to be welcomed by a rush of colour. _Blurry._ She blinked a few times to clear her vision, and the interior of a car came into focus. _My car?_

Red sensed movement next to him, and glanced over at Lizzie, who was gazing vacantly at the dashboard. "Good morning Lizzie, how did you sleep?" he asked affably, reaching for the plastic bag that was on the back seat and placing it on her lap, "You must be starving."

Lizzie flinched, startled, and looked toward the direction of the question, then down at the bag. "Red? What-?"

"Do not stress yourself with questions. Eat."

Liz looked inside the bag; there was a big chocolate chip muffin, a container of fruit salad, and a bottle of water. She pulled out the muffin and unwrapped it before pulling a chunk off it and popping it in her mouth.

Red's mouth twitched, "I want you to listen very carefully, and no harm will come to you."

He took a moment to enjoy the puzzled look that crossed her face as she stopped chewing.

"Excellent. I'll get straight to the point, shall I? I've grown bored of the FBI and its tedious antics; breathing down my neck with the help of this damn tracking chip. It was... amusing, while it lasted, but it was never a long term objective of mine. It's time to move on."

Liz shook her head, "So you're saying that you want out of the deal? Why would you surrender yourself in the first place if you knew you'd want to back out? You know the FBI isn't going to let you walk."

Red smirked coldly, "There's no backing out of a deal you were never part of. Let's just say I had my fingers crossed behind my back while we 'shook hands'. You know that I've been performing criminal acts on the side, keeping up appearances and such. You need to adjust your perspective, Lizzie; I've been working for the other side this whole time.

"As for why I surrendered, Director Cooper's assessment is accurate; I have a blacklist of competitors, enemies, nuisances; all individuals that I'd like eliminated. The FBI was simply a tool to get the job done with little effort on my part. The FBI has taken care of enough blacklisters that I no longer require its assistance."

Liz looked at him, "Why am I here then? You could be out of the country by now, if you didn't have me with you. Why did you drug me?"

Red glanced at Lizzie, briefly watching her as she picked at the muffin, before delivering the final blow; "You're my ticket out of their grasp. As of right now, Lizzie, you are my hostage."


End file.
